I'm The One That You Loathe
by TrenchCoatKissed
Summary: Dean and Castiel are serial killers who send each other winks and smiles through security footage.


**Inspired a ****Tumblr post.**

Dean tightened his grip on the gun and looked up to the security camera. He smiled ever so slightly and winked directly at the camera.

He knew who was watching.

Castiel sat in front of the TV in his motel room, the news switched on. He was watching a story on a serial killer named Dean Winchester. He had been striking all around the cities, killing innocents everywhere. His most recent attack had been not too far from where Castiel was staying.

"Dean Winchester is still at large after his most recent run," the news reporter was saying. She was standing outside of a bank, police officers and bystanders milling around behind her. "Not two hours ago, he walked into this very bank and open fired on everyone inside. He got away with almost half a million dollars and claimed the lives of twenty-seven innocent people."

The TV changed and showed Dean, smiling up at the camera. "This security footage has been revealed, showing Mr. Winchester taking out his gun and then _winking at the camera_. We do not know if this was targeted at one specific individual or whether it's for the general public but what we do know is that Dean Winchester is highly dangerous and still at large."

The news reporter was back, her face solemn. "More news in an hour. Back to you, Judy."

Castiel leant forward and turned off the TV, a small smile on his face. He knew Dean was winking at him. It was a game they had been playing for almost three months now.

They were communicating through security footage shown on the news, keeping into account that the other kept an eye out. Castiel had started it when he mouthed "Hello, Dean" at a security camera in a café somewhere in Illinois. Dean had returned his gesture by waving and smiling at a bowling alley in Louisiana.

Castiel leant against the motel countertop and scratched his head with the barrel of his gun. "You know, if you don't _hurry the hell up_…. I"m gonna blow your brains out. I hope you _know_ this," he said lazily, flicking his eyes over to the man behind the counter.

The man, whose nametag read "Brian", scrambled around in the cupboards behind the counter. There was already a backpack full of cash on the counter and Castiel was fast funning out of patience with this blubbering man.

He kept begging for his life. Castiel _hated_ it when they did that.

"Please don't kill me," Brian sobbed yet again, turning back around to Castiel.

"I won't… if you hurry up!" Castiel said impatiently, rolling his eyes.

Brian looked slightly more relieved, returning to stuffing anything of value into the backpack. Castiel sighed and picked at his fingernails, his gun tucked under one arm.

"That's it, sir," Brian said, backing away with his hands raised.

Castiel cocked an eyebrow. "Sir… huh, I like that." He smiled up at the security camera in the corner and pointed the gun at Brian's head. "Goodbye Mr. Brian."

Brian's eyes widened and he promptly burst into a bout of fresh tears. "But you said you wouldn't-"

"Sometimes people lie, Mr. Brian," Castiel interrupted, pulling the trigger. He liked the way Brian's head looked splattered against the white-washed wall.

Dean opened another beer and grinned at the TV. He watched as Castiel smiled at him and turned to blow the man's head off. Dean didn't have the satisfaction of watching the sniveling man's head paint the walls but at least he still got to see Castiel.

He knew he had to meet his man.

He knew he had to kill him.

Dean changed radio stations and nodded along to the rock track that blasted through the speakers of his Impala. He was on his way to Massachusetts, where Castiel had last been spotted. He knew it was a long shot but maybe he could catch up to him somehow.

He turned into Plymouth and reached for a pair of sunglasses. They were dark and covered most of his face, shielding him from the public eye. He scanned the area, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of the trench-coated serial killer.

Suddenly Dean was struck with an idea. What if Castiel was back at the scene of the crime? Sometimes Dean liked to hang back and watch the mayhem unfold, far back in the shadows.

Castiel sat on a tree branch, a few metres back from the motel. He watched with a smile on his face as the officers talked with bystanders. A crying woman was being consoled by a suited man over by the car park. Castiel assumed that was Brian's wife. He'd say "poor woman" if that was how he truly felt. But it wasn't so he didn't.

A low rumble caught Castiel's hearing and he turned his head. A black Chevy Impala caught his eye, idling by the curb. Castiel almost turned around to dismiss the vehicle when he noticed the driver. The sunglasses almost threw him off but he knew that face anywhere.

_That was Dean Winchester._

Dean spotted Castiel up in a tree near the back of the motel. He honestly wondered how brainless the police force in the town were if they hadn't seen him yet. He was almost in plain sight, the stupid bastard.

He watched as Castiel took off his trench coat and folded it carefully, putting it in a backpack. He was wearing white shirt and a blue tie underneath it. Castiel slowly climbed down and landed on the ground. He slid on a pair of sunglasses and a fedora hat then proceeded to walk straight past all the police officers swarming outside the motel.

Dean almost cried with laughter at how easily Castiel got past the officers. Castiel had a tiny smirk on his face as he walked straight up to the Impala and climbed inside.

"Hello Dean," he said easily, putting his back pack by his feet.

"Hello yourself," Dean replied, pulling away from the curb and driving away. "Where to?"

"Away from here," Castiel sighed, leaning back against the seat.

Castiel and Dean checked into a motel in Carver and went back to their room in silence. Dean was still wondering how two serial killers, whose faces were plastered all around the media, were managing to go unnoticed so easily. They were walking around in plain view, booking rooms at motels only hours away from massacre sights. It baffled Dean to no end.

"Nice to finally meet you," Castiel said, sitting on one of the beds in their shared room.

Dean nodded and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his hand closing around his lucky knife. "I've been meaning to find you for some time now," he admitted.

Castiel frowned. "Really?"

"Really." Dean walked over and sat next to Castiel. He studied those crystal blue eyes, seeing for the first time how much depth they held. He didn't seem crazy enough to be a serial killer. He was actually a really nice guy.

Dean wondered where Castiel got it from. Maybe it was like his story; a dead mother, an almost absent father and an over-achieving brother to compare himself to. Probably not.

Castiel tilted his head and his eyes squinted slightly. "Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean breathed, his eyes still lost in Castiel's.

"You're a little close," Castiel informed Dean, his nose scrunching.

"Yeah," Dean said again and he leant forward to close the gap between the two serial killers. Their lips met and Dean was in Heaven itself. He had to be. Reality would never feel this good.

Castiel made tiny needy noises in the back of his throat and Dean pushed against him hard. Castiel's mouth opened under his and it took Dean .2 of a second to realize what he was doing.

He broke away, completely out of breath, and ran a hand through his hair. "Holy crap," he mumbled. "Holy _crap_."

"What is it, Dean?" Castiel asked, moving closer.

Dean looked at Castiel and the knife felt red-hot in his pocket. How did his intentions change so quickly?

Dean's hand slipped back into his pocket and he pulled out the knife. Castiel didn't seem too surprised. In fact, he reached down and pulled a gun out of his boot.

Dean cracked a smile and threw the knife onto the floor. Castiel's gun clattered beside it. It didn't take long before lips were connected once again.

**yo enjoy xo**


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